Roses in December
by remuslives23
Summary: Memories of better times assailed him, snippets of his life ticking over in his mind like flashes of scenes from a film, faster and faster until he couldn't breathe then the floodgates flew open...


**Title:** Roses in December  
**Author:** **remuslives23**  
**Rating:** PG  
**Pairing/Characters:** Jack/Ianto, Gwen/Rhys  
**Word Count:** 5154  
**Summary:** Memories of better times assailed him, snippets of his life ticking over in his mind like flashes of scenes from a film, faster and faster until he couldn't _breathe_ then the floodgates flew open, and he couldn't stop the crippling pain from bending him in two.  
**Notes:** **lover100** prompt 083: Ring  
**Contains:** Angst with a little hope.  
**Episode References:** S02:E12 – Fragments, S02:E13 - Exit Wounds  
**Disclaimer:** This fiction is based on characters and situations created and owned by Russell T Davies, BBC, and affiliates. No money is being made and no offense is intended. Characters are of legal age for sexual situations. Title from a James Matthew Barrie quote.

* * *

Ianto was lost in his own thoughts, staring blankly ahead, before a light touch at his elbow startled him back into awareness. He blinked at the petite woman who was gazing sorrowfully up at him, reflected blue and red lights streaking in an alternating pattern across her pale face as they stood on the edge of night.

'I'm sorry, Ianto,' she said, tears in her low voice. 'I tried to get in touch with you to tell you...'

'I was... busy.' The words sounded as though they were echoing back at him from a distance. Shock, he supposed, blaming it for the tremor in his hands as well. The cooling breeze stroked his skin and a shiver rattled down his spine. 'Work. I... with all the explosions...'

She nodded in understanding, even though she didn't understand at all, and her hand tightened on his arm. 'Terrorists in Cardiff,' she said, her voice a little shrill. 'Who would have thought it? Should've stayed in London.'

She laughed, and the hysterical edge to the sound brought Ianto back from his red-tinted haze. He stared at her, taking in her dirt-smeared cheeks, her wild hair, her torn and dusty clothes, and was suddenly, forcefully reminded of how Jack looked fresh from the cryogenic chamber. The memory was a visceral kick, jolting him back to the here and now. 'Are you alright?' he asked, his Torchwood training emerging. 'Mark? The kids?'

'We're all fine,' she said, although her voice was shaking worryingly and her words didn't ring quite true. 'I got the kids out and Mark...' She cleared her throat and tried to smile. 'The hospital says he'll be okay. His leg... they had to operate to save it, but they say he'll be fine.'

'I'm so sorry, Kate,' Ianto said, spontaneously reaching out and drawing her near. They'd never been particularly close neighbours – Kate and her family had the bottom half of their rented conversion, Ianto lived on the second floor – but it was clear that she was close to breaking.

His arms around her shoulders, Ianto glanced towards the still-smoldering ruins of their shared house. His skin prickled all over as the cold darkness that had been threatening for the last twenty-four hours yawned wide, tempting him with the promise of oblivion. How easy it would be to let himself fall, to let himself be embraced by the numb nothingness that was creeping ever closer.

Watching as the bombs destroyed his home town had hurt, losing Tosh and Owen had broken his heart, but losing Jack – God, losing Jack had shattered the fragile organ. Oh, physically, Jack was still around; he had barricaded himself into the Hub tonight, kicking out a reluctant Ianto with a detached indifference that splintered the last of Ianto's strength. Yes, Jack was still present but, emotionally, he was an island, and Ianto couldn't find a way through the treacherous surrounding waters to reach him.

So he'd left as ordered – like the good little soldier he'd become – and headed for the home he barely recognised anymore, only to find that it was in as much ruin as Torchwood itself.

'They said we might be able to search through the site tomorrow,' Kate said, raising her head from Ianto's chest and breaking him from his miserable contemplation. 'But they thought... they said that...'

'There's nothing left,' Ianto whispered bleakly, and suddenly, he felt very, very old.

* * *

Almost without him noticing, many of his suits – all of Jack's favourites, he noted sourly as he removed them from Jack's closet – had ended up at the Hub. As he hung them in the mothball-scented robe in the cheap hotel room he'd found, he wondered if the increasingly reclusive Jack, caught up in his own misery, had even noticed they were missing. He immediately felt ashamed of himself because, damn it, Jack was suffering. He could see how much older Jack's eyes looked, could see the silent scream of Jack's soul reflected in the blue. He could see how much it pained Jack when Ianto was close to him, could hear the panic in his voice as he made transparent excuses to get away from him or, worse, left in cold silence.

And it felt like the air had been ripped out of his lungs.

Today, between jobs, he'd managed to find a department store that was open – the shopping district had been hit hard by John's bombs – and purchased the necessities: underwear, socks, toiletries. As he folded a pair of plain coloured briefs, he noticed his hands were shaking. He sat heavily on the bed, the cavernous maw of the darkness inside looking more alluring than ever as his losses overwhelmed him. It wasn't a lot by others' standards, and the big things were insured, but... His grandfather's cuff links, the black boxers with lurid pink hearts that Lisa had given him for Valentine's Day, the lucky socks he wore whenever Wales were playing England in the rugby, the only photographs he had of his parents.

Ridiculous, he told himself, his trembling fingers tugging uneasily at his tie. Tosh and Owen were _dead_. Jack had spent millennia suffocating over and over on Cardiff soil, had lost his brother, had lost his team. What did it matter that Ianto had lost a few trinkets, a few stupid sentimental items? It was selfish to mourn his belongings when he hadn't taken the time to summon up any kind of meaningful grief for his friends and colleagues. Or was this just the final straw? The weight that finally snapped his usually steely spine?

Memories of better times – Mam, Tad, Lisa, Tosh, Owen, Jack - assailed him, snippets of his life ticking over in his mind like flashes of scenes from a film, faster and faster until he couldn't _breathe_ then the floodgates flew open, and he couldn't stop the crippling pain from bending him in two. He sat on the edge of the creaky single bed, head on his knees and tears dampening his trousers as his shoulders shook with silent sobs. He cried for himself, for what he had lost, for what he would never get back, and he cursed John and Grey for allowing him to survive.

* * *

There was no time for flat hunting now they were two team members down. When he wasn't working, he was smoking, cracking the small window to flick ash out onto the street, and listening to the sounds of the noisy hooker working in the room next to his. The inexpensive hotel tended to draw an eclectic crowd and, after the third night of little sleep due to the conveyor belt of johns, Ianto had taken to mainlining coffee. The caffeine overload made his hands shake and his leg jiggle, but it kept him from falling asleep during delicate combat negotiations with the Nguj, preventing the Earth from being dragged into battle against what had to be the pissiest race in the universe. He was desperate for just a few hours kip, a few hours respite from the constant motion, constant thinking, constant ache. His body was fatigued, his mind was dull, and it was only a matter of time before his tiny mistakes became big mistakes and he either killed someone or himself.

He wouldn't go to Rhiannon's. She had a full house, and he didn't think he could tolerate her usual litany of complaints about his infrequent visits, not when his life was in tatters and she didn't have a bloody clue what he'd lost fighting for her and her husband who could never resist a dig, and her kids who barely spared him a glance.

The Hub was out of the question. Jack hadn't thawed any, and even Gwen had given up on her constant barrage of Tosh and Owen and Grey and 'what are we going to do now?', slinking off to home and Rhys as soon as she possibly could.

Ianto stared at the pale green wall of his hotel room, sighing as his solution became obvious.

_Gwen_.

* * *

Rhys answered the door, quickly rearranging his startled expression into something more welcoming before he shooed Ianto through to the living room where Gwen blinked up at him from her perch on the couch.

'Hi,' Ianto said ruefully, giving her a tight smile. 'I was wondering if I could borrow your couch?'

There was much that still remained unspoken between him and Gwen, but they'd reached a silent understanding in the aftermath of Gwen's wedding. The past uncertainty and envy over the place the other held in Jack's heart had settled into acceptance and a tentative friendship and, as he sat at their kitchen table, a cup of truly awful coffee warming his palms, Ianto felt the distance between them shrink.

They had questions – Gwen's quietly insistent and laced with endearments that Ianto felt oddly comforting, Rhys' eyes doing all his asking – and there was something about their earnest desire to _make it better_ that made the whole story tumble haltingly from his lips. To his intense mortification, his voice broke more than once, but he pulled himself together, managing to fight back the utter misery that made his throat tight and hands tremble.

He was fine, he was coping, until Gwen put her arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. His cheek was pillowed against her sweet-smelling breasts, her arms tight and comforting around him, and suddenly, he _missed_ them. He missed Jack, missed Tosh and, Christ, he even missed Owen. He missed them so much that he could feel the wail of loneliness and loss pushing against the lump in his throat, threatening to choke him, to swallow him whole. Ianto sank into her embrace, clenching his eyes shut tight against the sting of hot tears.

'Why didn't you tell us right away?' she asked, pulling back and glaring down at him in exasperation. 'Ianto, you don't have to do this alone. I thought you knew that now.'

He swallowed down the sob that threatened to slip free and shrugged. 'You've had enough to cope with,' he mumbled, his cheeks heating under her scrutinising gaze. 'And Jack... well... He's not been very receptive lately.'

Rhys snorted. 'He's being a bastard.'

'Rhys!'

'He is,' Rhys said stubbornly, staring mulishly at Gwen. 'You're coming home crying every night because he's being such an arse, Ianto can't even go to him for a bed for the night after Jack's brother blew his flat up...'

'Rhys...'

'I have a hotel room, if this is a problem...'

'Ah, bollocks to that, Ianto,' Rhys declared, crossing his arms over his chest and ignoring his wife's scolding eyes. 'You'll be staying here for as long as you need to. It'll be good – having a bit more testosterone around here. Might win the fight for the remote with two of us.'

Ianto had smiled and thanked him then almost ran for the shower to escape their compassionate (because his pride refused to accept that it was pity) gazes. He scrubbed at his skin until it was pink and tingling then stood under the strong spray, letting it slough away the day's frustrations and anger and sorrow, and pretending that the rivulets that streaked down his cheeks didn't taste of salt.

* * *

'Where's Jack?'

Ianto raised his head – slowly as if it were full of sand – and stared blankly at Gwen. 'What?'

She stepped closer, brushing her fingers over his cuff. 'Are you alright?' she asked, an all-too-familiar crease appearing between her worried eyes. 'You look exhausted.'

Ianto twisted his lips into what he hoped was a reassuring smile and knew he'd failed when the crease deepened. 'New bed,' he said shortly, his lower back aching at the mere mention of the slab of concrete masquerading as a mattress in his latest hotel room. 'Takes a while to get used to it.'

'You could have stayed at mine for longer,' she fretted, rubbing her hand up and down his arm. Four weeks ago, Ianto would have rejected the affectionate gesture, but now, his body screamed its gratitude for the soothing human contact. He hadn't realised how much he'd missed being touched.

'I don't know if I could have stopped myself from jumping on Rhys any longer,' he teased, glad that he didn't have to force a smile this time. 'Now I know why you're late every morning. Must be hard to resist a naked Welshman.'

'Oh, you!' Gwen giggled, smacking his bicep lightly. 'I kept telling him to put some pants on before he left the bedroom.'

'That's as close as I've gotten to a naked man in weeks,' Ianto said without thinking. 'I didn't mind.'

Gwen bit her lip, her face losing all its previous mirth. 'Things are still that bad between you and Jack?' she asked softly.

Ianto shifted uncomfortably, cursing his loosened tongue. 'We've all had a lot to deal with...'

'Ianto, it's been weeks. I thought you were going to talk to him.'

'I would if he didn't run a mile whenever he saw me heading his way,' Ianto said snappishly before he closed his eyes. 'I'm sorry,' he said, regretfully. 'I'm just...'

'Frustrated.'

'Yeah.'

She gave him another sympathetic smile and opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, the invisible lift's mechanism whirred into life. They both turned to watch Jack as he descended, taking in his huddled stance, his glazed and distant gaze. Before, he could fill the cavernous Hub with just his smile. Now, he looked so small, so fragile - a child in his father's over-sized coat - and Ianto was afraid that one little tap to his fractured shields would break him.

Ianto sighed and pushed away from his desk. There was one comfort he could still provide and know it wouldn't be rejected. 'Coffee?' he asked Gwen, heading for the machine after she gave him a nod, the crease between her eyes returning as she stared at Jack.

Ianto had just crouched to reach the coffee beans at the back of the cupboard – Jack's special blend – when he heard Jack call out, 'Gwen, go home.'

'It's half-three, Jack!' Gwen exclaimed, glancing at Ianto who checked his watch then nodded in confirmation.

Jack's step on the stairs was heavy, tired. Ianto looked up as Jack reached Tosh's workstation and started at the intensity of the gaze that had fallen upon him. Ianto straightened slowly, rubbing his suddenly damp palms over his thighs as his belly twisted with nerves. The air between them crackled with tension, and Ianto realised that, for the first time since the explosion that started all of this, Jack's eyes were focused and sparking with something hot, something fierce, something other than sorrow. Relief and apprehension snaked up his spine and he stiffened, bracing himself for that hot, fierce _something_ to explode.

'Home, Gwen,' Jack said, voice steely and unyielding, his eyes never leaving Ianto. 'Unless you care to explain why you didn't tell me Ianto has been living in hotels.'

Gwen made a squeaking sound and her hand fluttered around her throat as she looked to Ianto for guidance. Unable to tear his gaze from the fire and ice flashing in Jack's eyes, Ianto nodded. She hesitated a moment longer then snatched her handbag from her desk and pretended she wasn't running for the door.

Jack was looking at him – really _seeing_ him – for the first time in weeks, and Ianto wanted to fidget under the close scrutiny. He could feel Jack searching for an explanation as to why he'd been shut out, looking for forgiveness because he already knew the answer.

'How did you know?' Ianto asked hoarsely.

Jack pulled a book with a familiar cover from the depths of his coat. 'The manager of the last hotel you stayed at called on the Tourist Information Centre line,' he said dully, tossing the book towards Toshiko's work station where it landed with a thump, the shifting air ruffling a stack of papers. 'You left that in your room. I worked out the rest from CCTV footage.'

'You could have asked...'

'Could I?' Jack retorted then he took a deep breath. 'I saw your flat.' His jaw tightened and he corrected himself. 'What's left of your flat.'

'It's not the only home that was...'

'But it's _your_ home!' Jack snapped, his voice rising. He moved now, bearing down on Ianto who, rattled by the sight and smell of Jack after so long without, took an instinctive step back. Jack came to an abrupt halt when he saw Ianto's reaction. 'I know I've been...' His voice faltered. 'I know I've been difficult to talk to these last weeks,' he said quietly, staring at Ianto's feet. 'But I thought we... I thought you'd tell me...'

Ianto felt all the anger and resentment he'd spent weeks burying deep, deep down bubbling to the surface, and he quickly swallowed down the acid retort that was burning the tip of his tongue. 'Like you said,' he ground out, trying to keep his face and tone neutral. 'You've been difficult to pin down.'

Jack's chin lifted. 'It's been... it's been hard...'

'For all of us, Jack,' Ianto spat, his temper flaring like a struck match for a few precious seconds before he bit his lip and shook his head, turning away. 'There was never a good moment to tell you. I'm sorry.'

'Oh, no you don't,' Jack said with an urgency Ianto could _feel_. Jack seized his arm and roughly turned Ianto to face him. 'I'm not the only one who's been unreachable since... since that night,' Jack snarled, his fingers biting cruelly into Ianto's upper arm. 'You pulled away. You didn't even try to reach me, to tell me about your home.'

'Tosh and Owen are dead!' Ianto shouted, yanking his arm out of Jack's grip. 'They are dead and Gwen was a mess and when you weren't in the morgue or on a roof or prowling around the power plant, you could barely _look_ at me! Every time I got close enough to touch you, you found an excuse to leave the room. So, you tell me, Jack. When was the most appropriate time to force you to listen to how I'd lost my television or my grey suit or my...?'

'Your life!' Jack yelled back, giving Ianto a shove. 'Everything you have!'

Ianto stumbled a few steps until the counter halted his momentum then, fury overwhelming him, he pushed Jack back. 'It's nothing! It's just stuff!'

Jack staggered then caught himself on a rail. They glared at each other for a long, tense moment then Jack's face collapsed into a mask of regret and sadness. 'It all you've got outside of Torchwood,' he said softly. 'It's all I would have had left of you if...' His voice trailed off, and Ianto felt his anger drain away, leaving a bone deep, pervasive weariness.

'... if I'd died,' he finished, heaving a sigh. His body felt impossibly heavy, his head full of cotton wool. He was so damn _tired_ of this argument. So damn tired of waiting to die. With what felt like superhuman effort, he pushed himself away from the counter. 'Jack, you can't keep punishing me because I'm going to die someday.'

Jack's jaw dropped and his eyes widened. 'I... I don't...'

'You do,' Ianto interrupted, rubbing a hand over his face. 'I can't deal with you pushing me away every time one of us has a close call.' He slowly made his way to his desk, moving as if underwater, and tugged his jacket off the back of his chair. He turned to face Jack as he slid his arms into the sleeves. 'I've accepted that my life won't be long,' he said quietly. 'I had hoped to spend what time I have with you. But I can't keep apologising for being mortal, Jack. I won't.'

With one final, mournful glance at his lover, Ianto pulled his jacket around him like a shield and headed for the door, feeling Jack's gaze on him until the cog door closed.

* * *

When his mobile phone rang that evening, Ianto knew who it would be. 'Gwen.'

'Are you okay, Ianto?'

Her voice was saturated with a motherly concern, and Ianto couldn't help but smile when almost forgotten warmth bloomed in his chest. 'I'm fine,' he said, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of his bed.

'Was he very angry?'

'He was... hurt, I think,' Ianto sighed, bracing his elbow on his thigh and burying his fingers in his hair. He scratched at his scalp. 'It's been a hard few weeks for him and...'

'Don't you make excuses for him, Ianto Jones,' Gwen scolded. 'We all lost Tosh and Owen. We tried to talk to him, but he kept pushing us away.'

'I should have tried harder.'

'He wouldn't let you near him!' Gwen practically growled. 'Perhaps he needed this. Perhaps this will make him realise how far he's drifted from us.'

Ianto opened his mouth to respond, but a soft knock on the door distracted him. He pushed himself to his feet. 'I've got to go, Gwen,' he said, headed for the door. 'I'll see you tomorrow.'

'Bye, Ianto,' came the tinny reply before he snapped the phone closed and opened the door to a slumped figure.

'Jack.' He wasn't surprised, really. The other man was just a little earlier than he'd expected. 'Come in.'

Jack, wrapped tight in his great coat, slipped past Ianto, taking in the neat, but plain room. 'It's not much to look at,' Ianto said as he closed the door, 'but it's home for now. Wish the bed was a little softer...'

'Come back to the Hub.'

Ianto stifled a sigh and avoided Jack's eyes as he passed him. He sat down on the edge of the mattress and waved towards the straight-backed chair in the corner. Jack ignored him, leaning against the wall opposite, eyes fixed on Ianto. 'Come back to the Hub,' he repeated, the pleading note in his voice this time making Ianto's heart clench as he looked down at his shoes.

'I don't think that's a good idea.'

Jack exhaled shakily and carded a hand through his already mussed hair. Ianto raised his head to see him staring out the window, blue eyes clouded and lost. 'Jack?' he said quietly, tilting his head to see Jack's ashen face. 'Jack, what...?'

'That wasn't the reason.'

Ianto frowned as Jack turned back to him, something like resolution in his face. 'I do think about you... leaving me,' he said, choking the strangled sounding words out. 'I can't help it. I'm dreading the day that you...'

He broke off, swallowing hard before dragging a hand over his face and pushing off the wall. With three long strides, he'd reached the bed, and he sank down beside Ianto. Just weeks earlier, they would have fallen on each other with a laugh and put the bed to good use, but now, Jack was careful to leave space between them, a gap that – while only measuring a few inches - felt like miles.

'I don't mean to push you away,' Jack said, his forearms resting along the tops of his thighs. His fingers twisted together nervously. 'It's a defense mechanism. One I'd hoped I'd managed to overcome, but obviously need to work on.'

Ianto made a soft noise of agreement and Jack smiled grimly before he continued. 'But that wasn't entirely the reason I've been... absent these last few weeks. It's not the whole reason I was so upset about your flat.'

Ianto bit his lip to stop himself demanding answers. The stiff set of Jack's shoulders told him how difficult this conversation was for the other man, and he called up his very last reserves of patience as Jack visibly struggled to put his feelings into words.

'When I let you and Gwen out of that cell, I couldn't remember your names.'

Ianto's breath caught in his throat, and he stared at Jack. 'What?'

Jack closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands. 'I couldn't remember you or what you were to me. It wasn't until I saw Toshiko that things started coming back.'

He dropped his hands and looked at Ianto, anguished eyes glistening. 'I've remembered a lot of it now. Walking around the Hub, driving through Cardiff, reading the files, just looking at you - memories began to come back. But it took some time and... I still have some gaps.' His face screwed up in misery. 'I had to look on the computer for your address. I couldn't remember.'

Jack startled Ianto when he stood abruptly, pacing the room in agitation. 'I remember our first kiss, I remember Lisa...' He didn't see Ianto's flinch as he turned on his heel. 'But I don't remember our first time together, I don't remember our first date, I don't remember how we were together before it all happened. I know I love you – I can feel it when I look at you - but I don't remember if I ever told you.'

'You didn't,' Ianto whispered, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. 'You never have.'

He never thought he'd hear those words from Jack, was never sure that Jack even felt that way – he was so good at blasé and nonchalant. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. He wasn't supposed to hear Jack say he loved him for the first time amidst all this misery and pain. Damn it. John and Grey had taken his friends, his home, and now, they'd taken this moment – a moment that should have only been about him and Jack and didn't include ghosts of friends and ex-lovers and homicidal brothers - from him as well.

Lost in his anger at John and Grey, at Jack, at himself, he hadn't noticed Jack pause in his pacing, or his face soften into a strange mix of remorse and affection. It wasn't until Jack crouched in front of him, hands sliding over Ianto's legs to cradle his hips, that he looked at the other man. 'I couldn't remember us,' Jack whispered, 'and when I saw your flat and thought about what might have happened to you that night...'

He bit his lip and scrabbled for Ianto's hand lying on the bed, squeezing hard, squeezing until Ianto's bones creaked. 'I wouldn't have had anything to fill those gaps. I wouldn't have had the chance to wake up with you in your bed again or to cook dinner in your kitchen or to watch you in the shower and remember doing it before everything went to hell. The only thing keeping me going is knowing that I'd be able to make new memories to replace the ones I've lost and... '

He bent his head, pressing his forehead to Ianto's knee. 'I'm going to lose you one day, Ianto. I'm going to lose my memories of you. I couldn't bear the thought of it happening so soon.'

Ianto could feel him trembling and sighed softly before stroking his hand over Jack's head, letting his fingers tangle lazily in his hair. 'You're an idiot,' he murmured, idly noticing how dark Jack's hair was against his pale, Welsh skin. 'You don't want to lose me yet you push me away?'

''I didn't want you to know,' Jack said softly, voice muffled as his lips moved against Ianto's knee. 'I didn't want you to see me so weak, so useless.'

'I would never think...'

'I know that now,' Jack told him, looking up and giving Ianto a tight smile. 'It scared me when I realised just how much I'd come to need you. I fought it. I pushed you away.' He dipped his head and kissed Ianto's leg, his lips burning Ianto's skin even through his trousers. 'I'm sorry.'

Ianto's fingers tightened briefly around Jack's hair then he tapped the back of his neck with his forefinger. 'Unless you're going to pull out a ring or pull down my trousers, I suggest you get up,' he said, a weight lifting from his chest when Jack raised his head and smiled a smile that looked almost normal.

'Cock ring count?'

'Arse. Get up.'

Jack put his hands on Ianto's knees and pushed himself to his feet. He didn't straighten, though, instead, bringing his hands up to cup Ianto's jaw. Their lips met sweetly, Ianto's parting instinctively at the gentle touch. Jack's tongue dipped into the warmth of Ianto's mouth, tasting briefly before Jack broke the kiss on a ragged moan.

'I'd forgotten how good you taste,' he whispered, dragging his lips over Ianto's jaw, over his earlobe, then burying his face in the crook of Ianto's neck. He inhaled deeply then sighed, his breath washing hot and damp over Ianto's skin. 'I'd forgotten how good you smell.'

Ianto hadn't forgotten and he breathed in deeply, inhaling the spicy perfume that enveloped him and losing himself in the headiness of Jack's touch, Jack's scent. He brought his arms up to circle around Jack's shoulders then pulled him down and twisted their bodies. He smirked down at Jack's surprised face as he lay splayed across the mattress, Ianto hovering over him.

'Nice move,' Jack said hoarsely, hands tracing the contours of Ianto's body.

'Thanks.' Ianto lowered his mouth to Jack's, kissing him slowly, deliberately, before murmuring into his mouth, 'We've never had sex in a hotel room.'

Jack's eyes fluttered open and he gazed at Ianto through hooded lids. 'Never?'

Ianto shook his head. Jack considered him for a long moment before a soft, intimate expression crept across his face. 'New memories to replace the ones I've lost,' he whispered and, when Ianto nodded, his lips curled into a grateful smile. 'Thank you.'

Ianto dropped a quick, firm kiss on his mouth then nipped at his lip. 'Thank me after,' he said, his voice low and elaborately seductive and Jack laughed, the raw, unused, but so beautiful sound sending a thrill through Ianto.

'I should have told you I love you before now,' Jack said, sliding a hand around the back of Ianto's neck as his lips ghosted over his cheek. 'But I'm so glad that I didn't because that's not a memory I would want to lose.'

They both heard the silent _'before I have to'_ and then Jack angled his head so their noses bumped together in what Ianto's romantic side might call an Eskimo kiss before catching Ianto's lips in a languorous kiss that stole his breath away. As Jack's fingers fumbled endearingly over the buttons on his shirt, he mouthed greedily at Ianto's neck and, even though he knew they had a long way to go, for the first time since he'd laid eyes on that bomb in the abandoned building, Ianto thought that everything might really be alright.

fin.


End file.
